


Two Knights to the Rescue

by headless_nic



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Gen, Third Sequel to: The Apple Thief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 15:13:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17286425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/headless_nic/pseuds/headless_nic
Summary: It is spring-time and Aldwin Holmes decides to take his little charge on an adventure if only to escape the May-Day celebrations.





	Two Knights to the Rescue

**Author's Note:**

> For my son :)  
> Oh, and the ghost story Aldwin tells the boys is right at the end. ;)

Two knights to the rescue

The sun was shining brightly after the downpour earlier this morning. Longingly Sherlock Holmes stared out of the window, paying little attention to what his uncle had just said. There was a blackbird in the tree that was busy building a nest, which was decidedly more interesting to watch than to follow the spelling competition the young teacher saw through at this instant.

"Sherlock - oscitancy?" 

Waking from his daydream the little scatter brain stared wide-eyed at the smirking young man at his desk. 

"What?" he stammered, confused by the sudden interruption of his thoughts.

"It should be ‘excuse me', not ‘what'! - Sherlock, would you be so kind, as to spell the word oscitancy." now Aldwin Holmes raised his eyebrows and the penny dropped with his seven-year-old nephew. 

"Oh! Of course. - O. S. C. I. T. A. N. C. Y.." he stammered but spelt the word correctly nonetheless.

"Good, your oscitancy does not seem to interfere with your ability to actually spell the word." the man replied dryly. "But I would prefer it if you could pay a little more attention and be more vigilant."

"Yes, Uncle Aldwin." was the contrite answer, as his gaze turned back to the nesting blackbird. 

It did not escape the uncle, but it would have to do to scold the boy later. 

"Ian, could you please spell your name?" Ian was the youngest of the children, now that the new term had begun and he still struggled with the concept of reading and calculating – and fitting in. 

The boy looked confused and scared despite the friendly tone his teacher had adopted. Ian was terribly shy and this was even more pronounced as his family had only recently moved to Langfield and as yet he had to find friends. Sherlock who sat on one side of the boy turned towards him and at last away from the window and helped him out. 

"Thank you," the little boy whispered in gratitude, a coy smile on his bespectacled face. 

"No problem."

Janet, who sat on his other side, grinned at him, her eyes gleaming. Since the winter she had grown bolder and was now a fairly regular companion of Alfie and himself and it had already come in handy a couple of times to have a girl around. Of course, some things were not for girls, but then again, she had made it perfectly clear that some things were also not for boys. Bummer! It also helped their friendship, Sherlock thought to himself, that she had shifted her attentions to his best friend, who received them with more gratitude than he had. - Though truth be told, one could hardly take them with any less appreciation than he had shown. As friends, they worked well together, but really, these romantic notions were not for him. He would only marry when he found a girl so pretty he could not take his eyes off of her and even though Janet was pretty, she was not handsome enough to tempt him (1). Having nothing better to do, as now Carol Brown struggled to spell ‘embroidery' (she was not very clever, Sherlock noticed), he continued to pursue the matter, what kind of wife would suit him – sometime in the very distant future. If he would marry, his wife would need to be smart and kind, especially to their children, and funny and love him back dearly - and not kiss him on the mouth! And if she also liked to solve mysteries, the better. Having settled the matter sufficiently, for the time being, his gaze wandered back to the bird in the tree in front of the window. He had been watching it for the past few days, fascinated how the nesting proceeded. 

"Sherlock it will not do if you only rely on your perceptibility..."

Waking from his daydreams once more he had only taken notice of the last word and promptly began to spell it. 

"Well, that proves my point I would dare say." Aldwin Holmes smirked. "What I actually wanted to say – and this is an advice for all of you – is, you need good knowledge, pay attention and be perceptible to get on in life. If you add a pinch of common sense to it, the better. For now, I release you and see you all tomorrow."

The children piled out, most of them to rush home for lunch and then back out and onto the fields where they had to help their parents during the planting season that was in full swing now (2). And even though Mrs Nichols was of the opinion that too much of a fuss was made about working the land and stated that she had not set up the school, so the lessons would end at lunch already. Her young schoolmaster though, knowing it made little sense to talk to an almost empty schoolroom – as he was certain that the parents then would just keep the children at home completely - had chosen to ignore her. Admittedly, Aldwin Holmes had first thought about starting lessons a bit earlier, only to be told, that the farmers' children were needed for feeding and milking and so forth and could not be spared (3). He left it at that, and so the children were free to help with the field work in the afternoon. 

It was not much different in the Holmes household, though on a smaller scale, of course. The garden needed tending and this meant, as soon as Sherlock and his uncle had eaten, they would go outside and dig up their vegetable patch (4). The potatoes needed to go in, as did the beans and the turnips, the strawberries needed padding (5) and Mr Summers had promised to deliver a cartload of manure today as fertilizer, which meant the digging would not just be harder, but also smelly work (6).

They were lucky, Emma in her industriousness had prepared a load of sandwiches and made a jug of peppermint lemonade (7). It was delicious, and so in high spirits, they went outside and got to work. Aldwin digging, Emma padding the strawberries and Sherlock picking out the weeds all the while whistling to himself. An hour into their work the promised fertilizer arrived and when the huge Shire horse had been unhitched and led away, the young teacher climbed up onto the cart and shovelled the manure onto the freshly dug patch of earth, ordering his nephew to spread it evenly with a rake. 

The weather this April had been particularly fine, with only little bouts of frost and neither too dry nor wet weather. If it stayed this way, the crops would be good this year, the young farmer thought, once again not paying much attention to what he was doing – or rather where he stepped. He had put down the rake for a moment, to help his uncle remove the side of the hay cart (8), so work would be easier as the load was emptied out. In consequence, when turning around and walking back onto the dug up garden Sherlock Holmes found, to his dismay, that vigilance even regarding an inanimate object could be essential as with vigour his left foot stepped right onto the pronged end of the rake and thus his head made painful acquaintance with the tools handle. 

"Ouch!" he cried out, holding his nose, which instantly began bleeding.

"What happened?" Emma asked, worriedly turning around to him and seeing him bleed, all but fainted. 

The unlucky fellow stared at her confused, till his uncle, who had swiftly jumped down from the cart, his face, boots and clothes soiled, answered in a bemused voice: "She can't see blood it appears." Before walking over to her and helping the girl sit up against one of the apple trees.

The boy looked amused, till he gasped in pain again.

"This really hurts!" Sherlock tried to state as casually as he could manage, but in fact, the child struggled to keep his tears at bay, which only lasted for so long. Once the first drop had made its way down his cheek others followed.

"Let me see, Sherlock." the man ordered gently, wiping his hands on the bottom of his rough work trousers while his nephew hesitantly lowered his blood-smeared hands.

"What's with Emma?" he mumbled, as his uncle put one finger under his chin to lift his head a little.

"She'll be all right, but it looks as if your nose might be broken." Uncle Aldwin sighed. "Come, let's go and see Mr Riley, lest you end up with a crooked nose."

It was fortunate that his uncle's diagnosis was an incorrect one. His nose was only dislocated and all it needed was a hefty yank to get it back into shape. But still what a stupid accident! Why could he not have fought a giant, or at least another boy? No, it, of course, had to be a plain garden rake – and it was sad to say it had even won. 

With a fairly silly looking bandage, that was supposed to keep his nose in place with the aid of a wooden splint, Sherlock was scrubbed clean by his uncle as soon as they had gotten home and then put into bed as the apothecary (9) had recommended. The little tyke felt wretched and dizzy on top of that, and he was quite happy to put his head down. His nose still hurt badly and he could only breathe through his mouth, as Mr Riley had shoved up some cotton gauze up his nostrils to stop the bleeding. What had started as a fairly good day, had turned into a most unpleasant one.

It was needless to say, that the next morning at school, which his uncle had insisted he was fit enough to attend, he was made sport of. Even Alfie could not refrain from grinning, even though for only the shortest of moments. But the humiliation was complete. It went so far, that he even zealously followed the lessons for once and the blackbird had to work on his nest without a spectator. 

There was, however, one point of joy in all of this. When Sherlock arrived home, Emma waited for him with a big bowl of chicken stew and then told him, that Mr Snuffles had returned and was back in his usual hiding place in their garden shed. As he rushed around the corner to greet his prickly little friend, he heard Uncle Aldwin's voice from behind:

"What would you say to an excursion, Sherlock?"

"An excursion?" his nephew asked curiously, being all ears.

"Yes, on Mayday."

"But I thought there is a dance here, on the green?" Sherlock had overheard a few girls mentioning it, and also giggling  
as they thought about dancing with their young and quite handsome teacher.

"There is – and I would love to avoid it." Aldwin grinned lopsidedly. "Unless you want to dance with Janet, that is," he added with a smirk.

Sherlock glared at him before he started laughing: "No, thank you. I have had quite enough of girls. Janet is all right, though."

His guardian looked at him thoughtfully, before chuckling at the little imp before him, with his wry expression and the still bandaged nose.

xxx

Mayday came ever so close and now was only a week away. Sherlock looked forward to the ramble as the girls at school became increasingly annoying with their chatter about dancing and flowers and ribbons – it was hard to bear (10). Even Janet had begun to roll her eyes, and that had to say something indeed, as, after all, she was a girl. 

But so, every night, when the boy had been put into bed, Uncle Aldwin prepared for their outing, once in a while dropping a hint as to what they would be getting up to and thus making his little nephew burst with curiosity. But no matter how much the little rascal tried to find out what was in store for him, those well-placed tidbit's of information was all his uncle was prepared to reveal and to the nephew's dismay, the man seemed to take quite a pleasure in rousing his inquisitiveness.

When Mr Summers passed by the evening before their planned excursion to ask when he shall expect them, Sherlock could hardly sleep. Surely his uncle did not intend to just walk over to Kerkhill Farm. Or did he? What the little boy in his excitement had missed, was, that Mr Summers had actually brought something over, something that his uncle quickly hid in the disused pigsty of their small farmstead (11).

But, again, no matter how much he pestered the man, Aldwin Holmes just smiled mischievously, pretending not to know what his little charge was on about and so it was almost midnight, when little master Holmes finally fell asleep, once more rotating around himself as if he were a spinning top. But his mind was restless and so was his whole little person. 

He was awake with the first light and skidding out of bed he scampered downstairs only to find Emma still fast asleep. At first, he was confused and then the impatient little boy thought that perhaps she had overslept. But as it was, it was only four o'clock in the morning and grudgingly he was sent back to sleep for at least another two hours. Too wound up to lay down again, he pushed his chair towards the window, opened it and watched as the sun rose in spectacular shades of red, purple, pink, orange and yellow. The birds sang and indeed, not a soul was stirring yet. His elbows propped up on the windowsill, Sherlock watched the world outside awaken. 

This was how his uncle found him. Fully dressed, sitting at the window, head lying on his folded arms - fast asleep. With a smile of deep affection, the young schoolteacher walked over to him, gently waking him up.

"Oh, I did not sleep at all!" his nephew exclaimed flustered, making the man laugh.

"Of course not, Sherlock, I could see you were only thinking very hard… - and with your eyes closed as to not get distracted."

Breakfast was a hurried affair and they had hardly finished, when, not able to restrain himself any longer, Sherlock Holmes jumped to his feet, almost dashing outside even though he still had not the slightest idea where they would be going.

"You are such an impatient little rascal." was Aldwin's head shaking remark as he put on his boots and reached for his jacket, while himself still chewing on his last bite of toast. "Will you calm down for a moment and give poor Emma the chance of packing our provisions? A real adventurer needs to prepare thoroughly what he needs to take with him, lest he ends up taking his cuckoo-clock instead of the chicken pie."

He would not admit it, but he was just as eager to get going as his nephew was. After all, he had not sat on a horse for a good many years. - Just that the little imp bobbing up and down before him, did not know this yet.

"Why are we going over to Kerkhill Farm?" Sherlock wondered as the two adventurers, their handcart in tow, made their way across the small brook that divided the two properties, using the makeshift bridge Sherlock usually used to get the milk. 

"You really are an impatient little bugger indeed. Can you not just wait for once?" Aldwin scolded without being serious, looking unusually rustic and informal in his breeches and riding boots. 

This alone should have given the boy a clue, but alas it did not and so to Sherlock's surprise they were greeted at the farm by Peter holding a pony by its headstall with one and a horse with his other hand, both all saddled up.

"We are riding?" Sherlock gasped in surprise, at last, realising that the outing might actually lead them further than he had dared to anticipate.

"Yes." Aldwin Holmes smirked, patting the horse's neck in appreciation. 

It was not the massive animal the farmer used to plough (12) his fields, but the one which usually pulled his small gig (13) when going into town or visiting friends and family. Still a young horse, it was a lively beast with glossy dark brown fur and white markings and quite a temperament. 

"Can you ride?" his nephew blurted out incredulously, seeing the young gelding (14) prance about almost as impatiently as he had been for the last couple of days.

"Of course I can ride. What do you think I have riding boots for?" 

As if to prove it, he took hold of the reins and mounted the horse with surprising ease. - Well surprising to his nephew at any rate. But it was very obvious this was not the first time, Uncle Aldwin had sat on a horse, he rather looked as if he belonged there. With ease, he managed to control it leading it around the courtyard twice before dismounting again and fixing the saddle bags – which Mr Summers had brought over the previous night – to the saddle of both the horse and the pony. Suddenly his uncle, this reliable and open man, became an enigma to his flustered seven-year-old nephew and at the same time, his respect for the man increased if this was at all possible as he adored his uncle as it was. 

Helping Sherlock to mount the pony, Peter waved them farewell and they took off, missing the two people rounding the house just as they turned into a lane that would lead them away from the village.

xxx

They passed the back of Crewe Farm and carried on southward towards Lewes, which was perhaps eight miles from Langfield, and for a moment Sherlock wondered if they were going there. He had always wanted to visit the castle there since at school his uncle had told them all about it. How it had been built almost eight hundred years ago right after the conquest and that it had never been destroyed by battle and thus served as a very good example of how it would have looked originally (15). The homework on it had been an essay on how everybody imagined life in a castle and while Sherlock and Alfie had imagined themselves to be brave knights fighting for freedom and honour, as had most of the boys, the girls had imagined themselves as the young damsels waiting for their knight in shining armour. Apart from Janet, that is, she had taken a more realistic view and had seen to the stock and comforts of the inhabitants while practising to shoot with a bow and arrow herself and sharpening her dagger, lest anybody might enter her room without previously knocking on the door. In his opinion, the boys, with the exception of Janet Brickley, had written the more interesting works. Seriously, who needed a pretty woman sitting in a tower doing nothing but embroider stuff and wait for a chap they had never even met before?

But alas, they made a turn and rounded the small market town to the north of it crossing fields and paddocks in the process till they reached a neat little manor house of red brick, parts of the moat still surrounding it and ivy climbing the walls. After having dreamt about Lewes Castle this was not quite what the small adventurer had been hoping for. But as it was, he barely had the time to be much disappointed, as with something akin to a battle cry a boy of roughly the same age as himself darted towards them swinging a wooden sword, upturned saucepan on his head.

"Who invades this sacred land?" he shouted, not managing to look entirely serious. Behind him, a stout and exasperated looking man came running rounding a corner, wringing his hands, trying to say something to the boy he was obviously responsible for, but being too out of breath to do so. 

Bewildered Sherlock glanced about him and caught his uncles amused expression as he dismounted his horse with astonishing ease considering they had been riding for a good three hours and truth be told, his own backside hurt considerably by now. 

"Hello, Sir Cedric." Aldwin Holmes greeted, bowing courteously to the child. 

"Good day, good Sir, state your business!" was the rascals reply, while the chubby man, at last, had made it to his side, breathing heavily, yet still promptly beginning to scold the fierce looking knight with his wooden sword.

"Master Cedric, how often did I tell you to NOT attack any visitors?!" 

"Often." was the not in the slightest remorseful reply, while with a clank the saucepan fell onto the freshly raked gravel. 

Aldwin's mouth twitched suspiciously, as did the flaxen-haired boys and when on top of that Sherlock tried to dismount his pony, at which he was decidedly less elegant than his uncle and thus, with his foot stuck in his stirrup, ended up on his backside instead of his feet, the laughter was inevitable. 

"Holmes, really!" the strange man seemed incredulous, his face turning a prominent shade of red.

"Oh come now, Burns, you must see the funny side of it for sure?"

Glancing from his pupil to his former colleague and to the little  
boy rubbing his backside at last even he could not help a grin spreading across his face.

"All right, all right, I admit it, we are a strange bunch of misfits."

"And we are on to an adventure. Are you ready boys?" 

Of course, they were, what a question to ask at this point?

Rounding the two grown-ups Cedric reached out his hand to help Sherlock free his entangled foot and get to his feet. Cedric Stephrey (16) had a good-natured face, but there was a decided waggishness about him showing through his glittering eyes and the rascally smirk he sported. He was well dressed and by the way, he behaved it was pretty obvious he was the son of the house. But he was neither arrogant nor vain and Sherlock liked him immediately.

As they stabled their mounts, as from now on they would venture further on foot, a young woman joined them and by the resemblance she bore to the boy it was again easy to conclude that she was his mother, despite her hair being a lot darker and her eyes not blue but rather a dull shade of grey. She was a graceful woman with a gentle smile and for a moment Sherlock Holmes missed his own mother dearly, wondering if she, too, had been this kind and loving towards him. Lady Margaret (17) handed her son the satchel she had packed for him, and, to the boy's embarrassment, kissed him good-bye. 

xxx

The sun stood high in the sky when they reached a small lake in the middle of an equally small copse on the Stephrey's grounds. The ground was covered in a mass of bluebells (18) and bees were humming around along some early butterflies feeding on the nectar. With some very old trees among the rather fresh undergrowth, it seemed like a magical place and neither of the two rascals would have been surprised to spot a fairy or two (19).

"What are we to do now?" Cedric enquired, putting down his rucksack and wiping his forehead with his sleeve. 

It had indeed become uncommonly warm and sticky and thus it was a great relief when Uncle Aldwin exclaimed that first of all, they would picnic, before setting up camp. 

"What do you mean by setting up camp?" Sherlock now wanted to know, also plunking down his satchel.

"Exactly that. Two adventurers like yourselves need to learn of course, how to survive in the wild, do they not?"

Mouth agape both boys nodded. Whatever they had expected, it was not this. 

It was a fine feast they had, feet dangling in the cold water, birds twittering above in the trees and the sun warm enough to have them discard their jackets as well as their shoes and socks. As the boys ventured into the woods to collect as much wood as they could, Aldwin began preparing a hearth, carefully cleaning away the dry leaves and branches and building a circle of stone so the fire would not spread (20). 

With growing eagerness, the boys then built a shelter from nothing but sticks and as Aldwin had pointed out, a lookout was always handy to have when on a mission and so they found a sturdy enough branch with a fork where they build a platform from some more loose wood, tied together with a rope. It was a fairly tricky business to climb up the tree with the wood they had collected, till after about the third time up, Sherlock got the idea of using the rope to pull it up instead of carrying it. Proudly his uncle smiled to himself as he settled down with his fishing rod, hat pulled deeply over his forehead while still keeping a keen eye on the two little tykes scampering around the branches with as much joy as can only be experienced in childhood.

"You know what? We could use this, to jump into the water." Cedric suggested, as their little lookout was sitting almost precariously above the smooth surface of the lake. 

"Or we could tie the rest of the rope onto this branch and swing ourselves down." Sherlock pointed at yet another sturdy branch above them and not waiting for a reply he made his way up and did as he had suggested.

To their utter astonishment, however, it was neither of them, who jumped in first, it was Aldwin (21). Having caught several trout, as the water was full of them, their silver backs glistening in the sunlight which filtered through the fresh green of the leaves. Having gotten rid of his waistcoat, shirt, boots and breeches, he started up, pulled his knees up to his chest and with a massive splash landed in the cold clear liquid, spraying the two boys. 

"What are you waiting for?" he panted as he rose to the surface, looking up at their dumbfounded faces, laughing.

It was an afternoon full of enjoyment. The water was too cold to stay in there for long, but once the sun had dried them and their undergarments enough they sat out on another mission. This time to find the perfect branch to make a slingshot (22) out of and of course collecting the suitable ammunition as well. Slowly but surely it became clear, why Uncle Aldwin had spent so much time preparing for this excursion, as he had everything at hand that they could possibly need and in this instance it was a braided rubber band, which was tied around their little weapons. As a tree was made their target, it took the two little chaps a while till they managed to hit it, but once they had gotten the hang of it, their proficiency even astonished their teacher.

Then, of course, there was the issue of how to make fire. Both boys were fairly surprised that with all his preparations, the young teacher seemed to have forgotten to pack a packet of matches. But Aldwin Holmes just grinned and explained that there were other ways to make a fire. Pulling out two stones from his pocket he showed them to his eager pupils.

"These are called flintstones. In days of old people would not only make fire with them but also tools and knives. If one flakes off the edges, these can become very sharp, but seeing it is already getting late, this I will show you another time. For now, making a fire I dare say, will be enough." (23)

As he gathered some dried grass and moss on a small stone with an even surface he began to forcefully hit the stones together in an odd rubbing motion. They gave an almost glassy sound each time and at long last, they could see the sparks this action produced. Over and over again Aldwin did this, till at last one spark lit the dry grass and carefully feeding the fledgeling fire with more dry grass, moss and eventually small twigs, till it was strong enough at last to light bigger logs of wood. Round-eyed his charges stared in fascination as before them a real campfire emerged thus.

It was needless to say, that by the time the sun began to set, all three of them were sufficiently tired. As they build their little fire each in turn gave a yawn and as they settled to roast their potatoes and the fish holding them over the flickering fire with their sticks in hand, it was only due to the incredibly creepy ghost story Aldwin told them, that they stayed awake enough to still actually eat their food. Without much ado, the children crawled into their makeshift shelter and they had barely rolled themselves up in their rough blankets and their heads had hardly hit the mossy ground, when they were fast asleep, while the uncle, with a heart unusually light, smoked his pipe thoughtfully. In little more than half a year his nephew would leave him on his own to attend school, but at least he knew the little imp would already have a friend there as this was also, where young Cedric Stephrey was bound once the year was out. He could not for the sake of it have it otherwise.

xxx

It was in the middle of the night, that little Sherlock Holmes woke up, at first confused as to where he was. But soon his confusion gave way to a greater alarm as he heard the distinct sound of footsteps passing by and a whispered conversation. Was there no-one on the lookout? He wondered. Scrambling to his feet he crawled out from underneath his blanket and the makeshift shelter, glancing about him. The night was moonlit and he could see sufficiently well and yet, there was nothing – well aside from his uncle, who, wrapped up in his own blanket lay curled up next to the dying campfire, his head propped on one of their empty bags. 

There it was again. Whispered words and more rustling as if someone was rummaging through the undergrowth. Now, who would be sneaking about a forest in the dead of the night? Could it be highwaymen (24)? Murderers out to get them? Or even ghosts, like in his uncle's story? No, the latter he discarded as an idea. Ghosts would not be so noisy and whoever was there, was not exactly quiet. 

Carefully clambering back into the shelter Sherlock woke his new friend, taking good care he would not make a sound and whispering into his ear he told him, what he had found. Sleepy Cedric rubbed his eyes, needing some minutes to understand what was happening. But once he did, he sprung into action. 

"I can hear them, too," he muttered under his breath, as the disturbing sounds still reached their ears. Suddenly a screech pierced the night and something that could only be described as a cackle.

"What are we to do?" Cedric, clearly alarmed, enquired breathlessly as he slipped out from underneath his blanket likewise.

"Of course! Our slingshots..." was the answer.

Searching for them in the dark was not an easy feat, and it was lucky thus, that either of them still had plenty of pebbles stuck in their jacket pockets. Not bothering to put on their boots they sneaked out, and in the direction from where they heard the rustling. 

What they saw, made their hairs stand on end. There in the middle of a moonlit clearing two people seemed to be fighting fiercely. As far as they could see, it was a man and a woman, the woman having been thrown to the ground, while the man seemed to hold her captive. 

"We need to do something," Cedric whispered, shaking slightly, the knight in him preparing to attack to free the fair maiden from this horrible man, who  
could be nothing other than a feared highwayman, of that both were sure. Even Sherlock had to admit that the picture before them was decidedly scary. The white of the woman's gown, spread across the dark of the grass, almost glowed in the blue light of the mood and the shirt of the man was shimmering just as ghostly. 

"Yes, we definitely have to." was his friend's decided reply as he tried to think of a plan on how to save the unlucky woman from this blackguard of a robber.

"If we try and sneak around to over there," he, at last, carried on, pointing to a spot almost opposite to where they stood, "then we should be able to reach him with our shots."

"But we must be careful not to hit the lady." Was young master Stephrey's reply.

"No, of course not."

Almost like two shadows, soundless and alert the two boys made it to where they, at last, would have a good aim at the man's back. They could not wait any longer as well, as it seemed the girl, who was panting heavily, was in a state of rising agony, once in a while crying out desperately.

Knight Cedric was the first to shoot and to even hit the man. Confused the ruffian stopped manhandling his victim glancing about him with wide eyes and just when the two rescuers thought he would let go of the girl, who writhed in obvious pain, her hands reaching up as if to push her captivator away, he actually carried on.

In a rage Sir Sherlock aimed and hit him in the head, having him cry out in pain and once more stop in his actions. As both boys aimed once more, he turned around and thus the next two shots hit him straight in the face.

"Good Lord!" they heard him shout, as he quickly scrambled to his feet, hands raised to cover his visage, leaving the girl lying on the ground, as she, too, looked about in fear.

Two more well-aimed pebbles were all it took to have the robber let go of the fair lady with her flowing blonde hair, but it was to their great surprise that even in his flight the man stopped to pull her up to her feet before taking her hand and pulling her with him through his way across the clearing, where they parted, her running off in one and him in the other direction. 

"We saved her!" Young Cedric Stephrey cheered proudly and little Sherlock Holmes was not any less proud of their achievement. 

xxx

"I take it the two of you have slept well?" Aldwin Holmes asked them as he woke them early the next morning.

Grinning the two brave knights nodded, before telling the young teacher all about their nightly adventure. By the time they had finished, Aldwin Holmes could no longer keep a straight face (25). Laughing he patted them on the back congratulating them on their risky rescue mission, though neither Cedric nor Sherlock could see what was so funny about it.

After a hearty breakfast, they packed their things together, leaving their camp with a longing glance, thinking how nice it would be to stay just a little while longer.

"Ah well, I cannot have poor Harry Burns help me out for more than one day." Uncle Aldwin smiled, as he rolled up the blankets and stuffed them into his saddlebag.

"What do you mean?" 

"Mr Burns is teaching my class today as I am out and about with the two of you. When we set off so did he. So in a way, we all had our share of adventures, I dare say." the smirk on the young man's face showed he was not entirely serious about his remark, but ruffling his nephews hair he plunked the bag over his shoulder and picking up the more heavy one himself, at last they took off towards the house.

Rounding the manor they got to the stables, meeting with Sir Charles (26) who seemed fairly bemused by the sight of one of his stable lads.

"Jack, have you been in a fight? You do look as if you have taken quite a beating." 

The boy mumbled something incoherently while carrying on with his work, turning his back towards them. 

"Oh well, as long as the other chap looks the same." his master remarked, shaking his head before turning around to greet his son and two visitors.

Sir Charles Stephrey was a heavy set man with equally light hair as his sons. He seemed imposing yet trustworthy and there was the same kindness about him, Sherlock had observed in Lady Margaret. 

"Aldwin! How good to see you. And this then must be young master Sherlock." he reached out his hand to shake theirs deftly, before turning solely towards Aldwin Holmes. "It is a shame your brother died so young, he was a good man and still so young. What a tragedy!"

As the two men talked the boys went out to play some more, waiting for the horse and pony to be saddled. It took a while in which the two young knights decided to stage a sword fight – Cedric with his wooden sword, Sherlock with a broken off broom handle. 

But at last it was time to part as their mounts had been saddled, the saddlebags secured and all of them taken a sip of the small beer (27) the stable hands were supplied with. It was then, that his uncle's gaze fell onto Jack, the stable boy and his bruised face. Round little bruises as if he had been hit by a tirade of pebbles... Staring for a short moment Aldwin's mouth began twitching and he began laughing till tears came to his eyes. Now, this was really strange behaviour, his little nephew thought to himself, wiping his mouth before mounting his pony. With one last swing with his broom handle - sword, he bid his farewell to his equally brave opponent, certain they would soon meet again.

 

A.N.: So, once again I hope you liked my take on how Sherlock Holmes might have spent his childhood days. Once more this was written for my own little rascal at home, who keeps on asking me for more.  
I know Sherlock comes across as a little clumsy in this story, but children tend to have these phases where they seemingly cannot pay attention to anything and stumble over their own feet. Also, if you have read my other stories, you might have found some of the characters in this one to be quite familiar... (If you missed a particular little lady, well, she is eight years younger than her husband, who at this point is only seven, which might explain, why she does not make an appearance in this episode.)   
By the way, if you would like to read the ghost story Aldwin has told to the two boys, let me know and I will post it with the next chapter as an extra. 

(1) This is obviously a reference to Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice. 

(2) In rural communities, it was not uncommon, that lessons were arranged in a way, that the children could help their parents with the farm labour, often even having the holidays at those times when there was planting, harvest and so forth. In this case, they only have shorter school days as the school's patroness does not think it necessary for the children to be off completely.

(3) Yep, very often children would be already up for hours to help to milk and to feed the animals before going to school. Also, the milking obviously would have been done by hand.

(4) It was a common thing for those who had a patch of land available to them, to grow their own vegetables, so they would not need to buy it. These vegetables would then be preserved and thus would keep throughout the winter. 

(5) Padding means to cover the ground underneath the strawberry plant with straw so it will retain the moisture as well as the temperature of the soil so the plants can develop better and more speedy. 

(6) Well, this was the most common form of fertilizer and it is still used today, no sh… ;)

(7) Recipe for peppermint-lemonade:  
1 l of peppermint tea (preferably made from fresh peppermint leaves)  
Brown sugar to taste  
1-2 lemons, cut into slices  
Prepare the tea, add the sugar as long as it is still warm so it'll dissolve (remember that you'll add lemon later, so it should be a bit on the sweet side). Then let it cool down. Once it is cold add the lemon and some fresh peppermint leaves.   
This usually is quite strong so you might prefer to dilute this with some cold water or actual lemonade. Of course, ice can also be added.   
So, in the end, it is nothing more than sweet peppermint tea with lemon. 

(8) A hay cart had sides which looked much like a ladder. As with many trailers today, the sides could be detached to make it easier to unload them. Here Aldwin first works with the sides on so, not all the manure would fall out and only when it is half empty does he with the help of his little nephew take the sides off.

(9) In most, mainly larger villages the apothecary would act as the local quack. Doctors one would mainly find in significantly bigger communities, though once in while there might also be a practise somewhere in the country of course – if the doctor liked a country living.

(10) There are many many many customs regarding Mayday celebrations, varying throughout the country. But very often they would consist of a dance around the maypole, as I imagined it would have been in Langfield. 

(11) The Meadows is not a farm as such, but more of a small croft, where people mainly laboured to sustain themselves. In this instance, the Holmes' don't keep any animals aside from the cat Scarecrow, though I think later on I will have them keep some chickens and other poultry, as Emma seems industrious enough to be willing to look after them and perhaps earn a little extra by selling the surplus of eggs. 

(12) As there were no tractors, ploughing would be done with the help of either bulls, oxen, or horses. There were also traction engines which worked with steam, much like a steam locomotive, which were used in farming from quite early on in the 19th century. But a common farmer would hardly be able to afford such an expensive luxury, so for a long time, they were only found on big estates. 

(13) A gig is a small horse-drawn carriage with the driver's seat higher than the shafts with which it is hitched onto the horse. As the seat is so much higher, they can be fairly tricky to  
drive as in a narrow curve they have a tendency to topple over. 

(14) A gelding is a castrated male horse. Stallions can be extremely temperamental while geldings are much more docile and calm and make for good riding horses.

(15) Lewes Castle was built in 1069 by William de Warenne, who was the son in law of William the Conqueror. It is a typical motte and bailey castle (well, perhaps not so typical considering it has actually two mottes). As stated in the story, I could not find any reference to a battle there, so if somebody knows any better, please let me know, so I can correct it. 

(16) Cedric Stephrey is the brother of Harriet in my other stories and with that one day will be Sherlock's brother in law.

(17) Lady Margaret Stephrey is obviously the mother to Cedric and Harriet, (who is not yet born, by the way) and will one day become Sherlock Holmes' mother in law. But that is another story altogether.

(18) Bluebells woods are indeed magical sights. They bloom between April and May and form dense carpets of flowers in the undergrowth of the trees while their new leaves still let enough sunlight pass.

(19) This is meant as a homage to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, who was actually a great believer in the paranormal and with that even in fairies. Who would have thought?

(20) Fire in woods needs to be tended carefully for obvious reasons. Even though one can assume it is fairly wet at this time of year, still an open fire can get out of hand and spread, so it is just as well, Aldwin himself takes care of the precautions to avoid a catastrophe.

(21) It actually is never a wise idea to just jump into a lake not knowing how deep it is, as we find out later, the older Holmes brothers Singer and Aldwin are acquainted with the Stephrey family so I would assume Aldwin knows the spot already or has at least heard about it, as it is still on the Stephrey's estate.

(22) A slingshot is actually very easy to make and has been around in various forms since the beginning of time. In this instance, the boys use a small forked branch and tie the rubber band around the branched ends. It works pretty much like a bow and arrow would just using pebbles instead. I was glad to find, that by the 1860ies rubber bands were invented and available in England as I had trouble finding an alternative for this type of slingshot. I have it being braided so it has a bit more pull and thus force behind it.

(23) Flint was one of the first materials alongside bone and wood, which was used to make tools. It takes some skill to form them into the desired tool, but the edges then can be extremely sharp. Another use, of course, is making fire with it, which pretty much works exactly as Aldwin demonstrates to his nephews. A lighter back then would also consist of a piece of flint and a piece of steel which would be rubbed together to ignite the tinder with it, and even today many good lighters have actual flint in them to ignite the gas in the very same way. 

(24) Highwaymen were, robbers who specialised in robbing travellers, usually mounted themselves. One of the most famous ones is Dick Turpin. With the age of the steam, long distance journeys via carriage all but died out and hence the despicable though romanticised trade of the highwayman died as well. The last recorded robbery by what one could call a highwayman happened in 1831 so after all only little more than thirty years before this story is set. Then again, for a seven-year-old, it would have been more than a lifetime. 

(25) Of course, unlike the two seven-year-old boys, as an adult, Aldwin asses the situation for what it actually was – two lovers meeting in the wood for a tête-a-tête.

(26) Sir Charles Stephrey is husband to Margaret and father to Cedric and later also Harriet. He dies before Sherlock and Harriet meet (again) some twenty-nine years later.

(27) Small beer is a very light beer with a significantly lower alcohol content than normal beer. It was usually given to staff (male and female) to retain their bodily strength while not making them drunk. It has been around since medieval times and was drunken by basically everybody, even very young children. This is mainly due to the fact, that beer was far safer to consume than water, which actually would still apply in the 18hundreds. Due to the brewing, the germs would be killed and thus typical diseases such as cholera could be avoided. - Which they could also, at least to an extent, by simply boiling the water. But having said that, germs were only discovered later as a cause for disease and only then people started to develop various techniques to eliminate them. 

 

Aldwin's ghost story:

In days of old, when darkness fell  
and this's not just a tale,  
there was a hound straight out of hell,  
they said, who walked this vale.  
Black was he, with his eyes ablaze and teeth so sharp and fierce,  
they said with just one glance at man through his heart he could pierce.

Beware you, lonesome wanderer, he might be still around,  
this gruesome creature from beyond, this awful fearsome hound.

And so it was, long time ago,  
a maiden walked homebound,  
as she had spent the day astray,  
she met the fierce hellhound.  
Quietly he came to her, not making any sound,  
as suddenly he sprang at her and threw her to the ground.

Beware you, lonesome wanderer, he might be still around,  
this gruesome creature from beyond, this awful fearsome hound.

With fear, she screamed for help at hand  
but no-one dared to fight.  
It was more than a man could stand  
to see creature bite.  
But one man, he was brave enough and dared to challenge thee,  
he fought the devil till he fell and also dead, was he.

Beware you, lonesome wanderer, he might be still around,  
this gruesome creature from beyond, this awful fearsome hound.

As fog began to wallow up, the hound did disappear  
back to hell from whence he'd come and soon to re-appear.  
The teeth so sharp and talons clawing  
with glaring eyes and hunger gnawing  
the hellhound still roams 'round  
and if you stray when you should not  
he'll come to you on silent feet, not making any sound.

Beware you, lonesome wanderer, he might be still around,  
this gruesome creature from beyond, this awful fearsome hound.


End file.
